The Fifth Holiday Season

This is our fifth holiday season as a family of four. The fifth year we will sit around our oversized farm table with room enough for eight and realize one of those chairs will remain empty. The fifth year I will hang Woody’s stocking without stuffing it until it overflows with silly little gifts and his favorite treats. The fifth year…

Shouldn’t I be used to it by now? Shouldn’t I be over it? Maybe, but something about knowing this is the fifth time around the sun since our last holiday season with Woody makes it feel so final and devastating. I feel completely drained—exhausted, really—as we round the bend to another season of thanksgiving and joy.

Do not misunderstand me. I am thankful, and God’s joy fuels me daily. However, sometimes I am angry, angry at Woody for leaving; angry at the pain my children still endure; angry that my life is nothing like I envisioned it would be as I journey through middle-adulthood. So many transitions have occurred during 2019, and as 2020 begins to introduce itself I want to run and hide. I’m tired of trying.

Yet, during those moments of weakness, when my weary soul feels as if it cannot take another step, God gently lifts me from the floor into His loving arms and breathes into me the strength necessary for another day. And because He is faithful I know somehow, some way, we will survive the fifth holiday season

Never Again

I’m not sure why it hit me so hard this morning, but out of nowhere a wave of grief came crashing down on me pulling me out to sea as I flailed, trying to catch my breath. For a moment I was buried beneath the weight of the water as it flooded my soul and squeezed any sense of contentment from my heart. It was a thought—one innocuous thought—that sent me reeling. We have a summer league swim meet tonight, which Haden will be participating in. A friend of mine mentioned that her husband will be out of town for it. When she told me, I was completely unaffected by her statement, but for some reason it hit me this morning that Woody is not out of town. That is not the reason he will miss this meet and every swim meet Haden will ever swim in. He is gone. He will never see his son swim again. He will not watch his oldest son get married in nine days. He will not see his only daughter mature into the beautiful, strong woman she is. He will never be here again.

Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, I had fooled myself into believing that Woody has been on an extended business trip. The last eight months of his life he commuted to work in North Carolina, which meant we only saw him two to three times a month. I think I had convinced a part of myself that just as he returned from all of those business trips, he would someday return. I think I somewhat expected him to walk through our front door and apologize for being gone so long and for causing so much grief. I knew he would never miss out on his kids’ big events. He was the most involved father I have ever known. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, “he’ll be back,” has been playing on repeat. But not anymore. Woody is gone. We are on our own.

Therefore, I will crawl into my Heavenly Father’s comforting arms and wait for Him to soothe away the pain. I ache for what Woody is missing. I ache for what the children are experiencing without him. I ache for the life we had planned that will never be. Yet, I know God is here, and He will not miss a single breath. And that is the hope I cling to when grief washes over me and takes my breath away. God is near. We are not really on our own.